


The Anxiety of the Prince

by mistakeandcheese



Series: Anxiety of Prince/Ansiedad del Principe [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Being a Jerk, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Sweetheart, Anxious Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Anxious Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Awkwardness, Banter, Bickering, Boggarts, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Being a Jerk, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Being an Idiot, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Speaks Spanish, Cute Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Harry Potter References, Insecure Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Prinxiety - Freeform, Protective Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sarcasm, Sass, Shapeshifting, Swordfighting, Teasing, Testing limits, anxietys room, closet, puns, the evil within reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:14:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27733633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistakeandcheese/pseuds/mistakeandcheese
Summary: One day, the Prince decides he wants to test the limits of his own fear.He'll need Virgil (and the Dragon-Witch) to help him.(English re-write of "La Ansiedad del Principe")
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton & Thomas Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Series: Anxiety of Prince/Ansiedad del Principe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028706
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	The Anxiety of the Prince

There was a knock at the door. Virgil ignored it, in favor of turning his music up louder.

The knock dialed up to a persistent hammering, until finally, he tore his headphones down and sighed in agony. “Alright, I’m _coming.”_

He opened the door. On the other side of it stood the Prince. “Virgil!”

“No.”

“Wait!” The Prince exclaimed, before Virgil could slink back into the sweet solitude of his stormy abyss. 

_“What.”_ he responded flatly.

The Prince bubbled up into one of his cheesy, hero-of-the-action-movie smiles. “I have an incredible idea. No! A mission. But I need your h--”

“Not interested” He grunted, making to shut the door.

“Please!” The Prince whined, using his shoulder to wedge open the door like an incredibly pesky salesman. “You don’t have to do anything. I just want to use your room.”

“My room? Why?” Virgil demanded, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “You can’t have any of my posters” He added quickly.

“No, no no, nothing like that.” The Prince said, relaxing his hold on the door. “It’s just that..." He sighed, lifting his eyes as if to search for the proper words, before refocusing back on Virgil. "Well, I spend so much time fighting against monsters in the imagination. It isn’t very...high stakes. How am I supposed to make myself into a brave and valiant prince if I always practice the same and same again? If it’s never a challenge?”

“So, you want to use my room to... ‘enhance’ the experience?” Ever since the episode that Thomas filmed partially in Virgil’s room, all of the other sides had become aware of the room’s power: to augment anxiety. To augment anxiety until…

Virgil shivered internally. “No. Are you stupid? It’s dangerous.”

The Prince lowered his eyes with a rare shyness. “But...it’s really important to me.”

Virgil glared furiously at him for a moment, and then, sighed loudly, annoyed with himself for giving in. “Okay, okay, _fine_. But there are rules. Number 1: I have to be able to watch what’s going on from start to finish. No coming in here uninvited, with no one watching, no. Got it? And Number 2: Don’t mess up my stuff!”

“Great!” The Prince grinned, instantaneously dropping the mopey face. “We can start this afternoon!”

***that afternoon***

"You are _absolutely_ going to mess up my stuff."

"Pf, of course I won't," the Prince scoffed. "Don't be silly.,"

Virgil lifted an eyebrow at the scaly creature standing at the Prince’s side--it looked like something of a mashup between Medusa and a firebrick oven. “Then explain what’s up with _that.”_

 _“She_ is my friend. Well, my enemy--the Dragon-Witch.”

(The Dragon Witch hissed, a long, reptilian tongue spiraling from her mouth, which emitted a cloud of gray smoke.)

(Virgil hissed back at her.)

“She’s part of my imagination” the Prince explained. “She takes whatever form that I can come up with in my mind. Her blood? Imaginary! Easiest cleanup in the world.”

There was a truly disturbing sound as the Prince casually ran her through with his sword. The bloody body crumpled lifelessly to the floor, blood spurting everywhere like water from a punctured firehose. Then, the Prince flourished his hand, and the blood and the body transformed into a cloud of butterflies, which ascended to about shoulder height before regrouping, and (with a brilliant light) transforming back into the form of the Dragon Witch.

“Great. I can never unsee this.” Virgil grumbled.

“Yes, it’s quite amazing! Like me!”

Rather than dignifying this with a response, Virgil sighed. “Okay so, you have complete control over her?”

“I have as much control over her as I have over my own imagination!”

“Well, this was a mistake” Virgil muttered reflexively.Then, more loudly: “Okay, let’s just get this over with.”

Virgil sat tensely on the edge of his bed, watching as the Prince prepared for his battle (which involved pushing all the furniture to the side, doing a series of ridiculous looking stretches, and shoving the Dragon Witch into the closet.)

“Really? In the closet? Like a Boggart? How original.”

The Prince rolled his eyes and made a throaty little sound of irritation. “Anxiety, we already went over this. Everything that we do doesn’t have to be original one hundred percent of the time.”

“Yeah yeah, I remember.” Virgil replied, smirking just a little evilly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Oh, shut up, Lloronald-MacDonald--”

“What?”

“It’s a Spanish pun. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Pf.”

“But anyways, my anemic antagonist, shut _up_. It’s a strategy for tension buildup. _You_ should enjoy it.”

Virgil took note of the faint shadow underneath Creativity’s eyes. It wasn’t a reason to panic, but it was a sign that the room’s power was starting to take effect.

“Okay, okay, whatever. Just hurry up.”

“Rude. Don’t worry, Speed-Mc-Drama-Queen. I’m not going to spend any more time with you than necessary.” (Then, in a manner somehow even more passive aggressive) “I can take a hint when I hear one.”

With that, the experiment began.

Virgil’s eyes followed the bright point of the sword in the slow second that it took for the Prince to draw it from its scabbard.

“Okay, Dragon Witch” The Prince growled. “Show me what you got.”

Instantly, there was a hair raising yowl, and the closet burst open. The Dragon Witch launched herself toward the Prince--her form different from the one she had before: long talons, a pair of ridged, jet-black horns, and enormous teeth, strung with saliva.

The Prince dodged her just in time; he swung his sword down upon her and she dissolved into dust. 

“Holy shiz” Virgil muttered, clutching his chest. The form was just some sort of generic demon, but the initial jump scare was enough to raise his blood pressure a notch nonetheless.

The Prince looked like he was feeling alive. “Never fear” he boasted, puffing out his chest cringely. “The hero remains victorious!”

“He remains a pain” Virgil returned, when he’d gathered his composure.

The Prince rolled his eyes, which were now accented by visible shade of gray. “No pleasing the unpleasant, I suppose.”

During this exchange, the ashy dust of the Dragon Witch had been moving innocuously across the floor, in the direction of the closet. When all of it had disappeared into the cracks, the Prince positioned himself back in front of the ominous piece of furniture, and raised his sword again.

A few seconds went by with a tense absence of action. But then, Virgil realized that something was happening. The front of the closet was changing.It was becoming more...shiny? It didn’t open.

The Prince narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The closet winked with an innocent sheen. With sword raised cautiously, the Prince slowly approached.

Virgil watched with a mix of tension and interest. This was a different type of intimidation from before. This wasn’t as much scary as it was creepy. Virgil could appreciate creepy.

By the time the Prince was standing in front of the closet, it was clear that the door of it had transformed into a mirror. The Prince frowned at his own reflection, which (due to the apparent age of the mirror) had a few jagged borders and glassy scuff marks. Other than that, it looked completely normal.

Next second, the lights went out.

And back on.

“AH!” The Prince leapt in shock--in the mirror was the image of a pale girl with dark hair and a smile that stretched just a little too wide across her face.

This was too familiar.

When the Prince whipped around, of course there was nothing there--but the second he turned back to the mirror, the image of the girl had transformed into a monster, and the mirror cracked.

“Whoa! Virgil said, as fragments of glass hit the floor. The circular blade of a massive wood saw buzzed at the end of the arm, while a ghastly lump of heads giggled and shrieked between the shoulders. It was the monster from the video game “The Evil Within”--the same monster from the game that Thomas had to play for a video with Talyn and Joan!

Virgil was on the edge of his seat as he watched the scene unfold before him. It was like watching a real life gameplay.

The Prince floundered in the beginning. But to his credit, he seemed to get savvy pretty quickly to the fact that the weakness was the head (well, heads.)

And here’s the thing. It would have been terrifying to watch, except for the commentary of the Prince himself as he fought: 

“Run run run! Okay, okay--AH--  
“Oh, there are heads! Oh sweet genie, there’s a lot--  
“Ohh, I don’t like this, no I do NOT like this, nope nope nope nope nope!  
“AH  
“Oooo, Shubadoobadoooo--  
“And we go to the left, shubadooba--DUDE!  
_“AhhhAH!_  
“And a little cut here, and another little cut here! AND one little happy head hits the floor…  
“Wait. NO! NO BITCH, NO!”  
“I am not okay with this. Nope nope.  
“AH!”

It was a trip, but they got there. At the end of it there were many...many more heads on his floor than Virgil would expect to find on a regular Saturday, but they were dissolving quickly to dust, and the Prince seemed more or less okay.

“Now _that_ \--” He waggled his finger, taking a gulp of air-- “was a creepy cookie. Yeesh!”

The shadow under his eyes was a little more intense, but he was dusting himself off, and seemed to have a handle on the latest adrenaline spike. “Did you see me do it?” He said, glancing at Virgil. ”Did you see me finnish off the last head?” He grinned, bouncing a bit in place. “Kind of awesome, right?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Pf. We’ve literally seen that monster a thousand times before. But I’ve gotta admit--I was entertained by the narration--my Schubadooba-Dude.” (After all, it had almost been as entertaining as poking fun at this egomaniac himself.)

The Prince clicked his tongue and turned back to the closet.

The closet trembled. The Prince gripped his sword tightly.

The door creaked open, and out of the darkness protruded a long, hairy branch...wait. A branch? Or a…

“Holy flippin heck…” The Prince gasped.

A spider of enormous size crept out of the closet. Its eight beady eyes burned with the fire of a dragon. Its body was shiny, but on the other hand, hairy, and so dark it seemed to suck all the light out of the room.

 _“Cool…”_ Virgil murmured, a grin spreading across his face. (As Thomas’s Anxiety, he had a natural affection for spiders. Hey it wasn’t his fault! Whenever a spider appeared, his job instantly became way easier!)

The spider started scuttling toward the Prince with the momentum of an elephant.

“Bitch _no_ ” the Prince sputtered, tripping backwards.

“Careful” Virgil said lightly, observing as the Prince leapt out of the path of destruction and turned his sword wildy into one of the legs.

There was a CRACK. The spider hissed and used its seven remaining legs to turn itself toward its adversary, the fire in its eyes smouldering with red-hot rage.

“Careful!” Virgil said again, smirking as the Prince screamed like an opera singer, dodged the spider again, and started running around the room in circles, occasionally wiggling his sword over his shoulder.

Maybe this experiment wasn’t going to be as terrible as he had thought.

After a few clumsy moves, the Prince finally got his act together and succeeded in slicing enough legs, causing the spider to collapse to the floor. He stumbled forward to the boulder-sized head (which had pincers still clacking weakly) and dropped all of his body weight into the act of stabbing it through.

Virgil couldn’t help but roll back onto his bed, laughing his head off. “Oh my God!” He cried, gasping for air because of his laughter. “That was ridiculous! You should’ve seen your face!”

The Prince glared up from where he sagged weakly, still hunched over his sword. “It’s...not...funny!” He retorted, gasping for air because of the physical exertion.

“No, it’s very, _very_ funny” Virgil jested, settling himself comfortably against his headboard and grinning at the harrowed hero. “Except for the death of the poor little spider. That was a shame.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you would have liked to watch my death instead. I’m happy to see _you’re_ enjoying yourself, Nightmare-on-Overwhelmed-Street.” 

The Prince had two noticeable smears of black under his eyes, but Virgil didn’t feel too guilty, because the Creative Side still evidently maintained a healthy ability for rude nicknames.

Virgil heard the Prince give a sigh of resignation. “Okay, let’s go again.”

Virgil raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? You want to go again?” He had been expecting this to be the last time.

“Yes of course” the Prince said, totally straight(ha) faced. “I can admit that wasn’t very pleasant, but it’s no reason to quit.”

In truth, Virgil was a little--a _little!_ \--impressed. “Okay dumbass. Whatever floats your boat.” (What?! The Prince didn’t need to know. He had a big enough head on his own!)

The Prince made a “Hmrf” sound and repositioned himself in front of the closet.

At first, the closet didn’t do anything. And then--

A bullet cracked the silence. Virgil felt his heart jump into his throat. There was a bullethole in the door of the closet, where there wasn’t one before. 

Virgil and the Prince briefly exchanged identical expressions of the same uncertainty.

And then--

A storm of bullets roared, and ate up the wood of the closet like it was cheese.

Virgil and the Prince shouted in unison and threw themselves to the ground. From the closet came a boot, which was followed by the leg and the body of a man dressed in all the things of a totally average-looking American--jeans, T-shirt, ballcap--but also a red armband with an ugly symbol branded into the fabric. (Oh, and a rifle! Couldn’t forget the rifle.)

The man smiled a crazed smile as his eyes fell upon the prince, who was frozen on the floor, mouth open and eyes wide with horror.

 _“Die, scum”_ the man hissed, raising his weapon.

 _“Move!”_ Virgil screamed.

 _BAM_. A bullethole marked the spot where the Prince, just a second before, had been. 

_“Die”_ the man repeated, as the Prince dodged, and rolled, and ran. _“Die, die, die, DIE--”_

“Not today!” The Prince shouted, jumping directly at him--Virgil closed his eyes.

When he opened them, his first impression was that the Prince and the Nazi were embracing. Both were completely still. But then, the rifle clattered to the floor. The point of the sword trembled with a weak pulse, on the other side of the man’s torso. There was a carnal sound as the Prince ripped his sword from the man’s chest. The flaccid body flopped heavily against his shoulder, staining his clothes with a dark red. The Prince whimpered in disgust, and shoved the body off of himself.

There was a silence as they watched the body convert to dust.

“Seriously,” Virgil said finally, his own voice shaking in spite of himself. “A Nazi? Okay, I think we’re done here.” He could clearly see that the Prince was shaken. His shoulders were trembling. His face and his clothes were splattered with blood, and his breaths were coming out short and heavy. He had two deep black circles under his eyes.

The Prince shook his head rapidly. “Are you kidding? I just had a sword fight against a Nazi! And I _won_! How awesome is that?”

“Sufficiently _‘awesome’_ to mark this experiment as _over_.” In retrospect, the three previous forms of the Dragon-Witch hadn’t been too problematic for Virgil. But this was different. This was a _Nazi_. The physical incarnation of hate. But at the same time, it had been a human body that the Prince had had to kill. Meanwhile, the experience was made about a hundred times more disturbing by the fact that this form of the Witch could _talk_ (even if its vocabulary was limited to the words “Die scum”) and by the fact that (Virgil just realized it now) the bullethole in the floor...it still hadn’t vanished.

“No!” the Prince whined, clasping his hands together imploringly. “Please, Virgil! I need to do this!”

“Why?!” Virgil demanded incredulously. “Look at yourself! You’re shaking in your skin! Why do you need to go any further than this? It’s ridiculous!”

Pacing back and forth, the Prince wrung his hands, saying, “because I still haven’t reached my peak!” He stopped pacing and fixed Virgil with a stare, his shadowed eyes begging wordlessly.

Rubbing the back of his neck in agitation, Virgil avoided the sight of the Prince begging and furiously tried to decide what to do.

“Please,” whispered the Prince, his eyes wide, and soft, and supplicant.

It was useless!

“Okay _okay_ OKAY!” Virgil relented, throwing his hands up in defeat. “But this is the last time!”

The Prince spastically nodded his head, and returned to his position in front of the closet. Virgil watched on with a heavy feeling of unease.

This time, the closet opened normally. There was no gunshot, or mirror, or ominous creek, or violent burst.

Out stepped a figure dressed in dark colors. Its hands were buried in its pockets, and its tilted face obscured by a hood.

The figure walked slowly towards the Prince. Virgil watched with trepidation, expecting that at any moment, the hood would be thrown back to reveal the next terrifying monster. 

The Prince stood his ground, keeping the sword raised. Virgil fought the instinct to shout “run.” The figure didn’t attack. It stopped a few paces away from the Prince, and stayed there.

Virgil waited with confusion. He was at the point of saying “What--?(is going on?)” When another voice rose above:

“What are you doing?”

And it was...his own voice.

The figure pulled back it hood, and there was...his own face.

“It’s stupid. Everything that you do is stupid.”

His own face, twisted into an expression of utter disgust.

The real Virgil sat frozen, without a clue how to respond. 

“Everything that you do is useless. You’re useless.”

The Prince didn’t do anything. He didn’t move.

The Witch-Virgil strode a little closer. “You’re rude. Mean. Arrogant. Selfish.”

Virgil’s jaw dropped. This was eerie. Why didn’t the Prince fight? Why didn’t he say anything?

“You’re a detriment,” the Witch-Virgil continued. “An egomaniac. A dumbass. A pain.”

“V-Virgil?” the Prince whispered.

With a mix of incredulity and guilt, Virgil realized that some of these were the words were the ones he himself had used to describe the Prince earlier.

“You’re defective, unoriginal, cowardly, egotistical, and stupid. No one likes you.”

The Prince shook his head jerkily, gaze glued on the Witch-Virgil’s face. “You--you don’t mean it.” He looked terrified.

Virgil experienced a wave of fury and nausea as the Witch-Virgil laughed and drew his hand from his pocket to touch the Prince’s face with mock tenderness. “Oh, sweet Princey. You act so full of yourself, but even you realize how pathetic you are. All of us know that you have no self esteem. Well, I suppose that’s _something_ to show you aren’t totally blind and delirious.”

The sword hit the floor. At some point Virgil had leapt to his feet, even though he didn’t remember doing it. He couldn’t see the Prince’s face, but then the Witch-Virgil cooed: “Oh, poor Princey. Are you going to cry?” The Witch-Virgil took a step back, dragging the Prince gently by the chin. The Prince followed weakly, leaning into him. He took another step back, dropping his hold and watching unblinkingly as the Prince sunk to his knees without support.

 _“Weak”_ the Witch-Virgil hissed. His voice had started to amplify--it was taking on the same demonic subtone that Virgil himself always developed in grave situations.

 _“You’re ugily, too. And your clothing is ridiculous--not just because it doesn’t fit your ass--it doesn’t fit you. It’s a lie. You’re not a real prince. You’re not even a real person. And if you were? Well then. You would be completely impossible to love. Don’t believe me? Fine. At the end of the day, it’s only_ my _opinion.”_

“No, don’t listen!” Virgil shouted. He sprinted to the Prince and threw himself to his knees by his side. “Don’t listen--those are lies! Princey? _Princey, come on!”_

The Prince was sobbing, great streaks of black and gray running down his cheeks; his hands, trembling as he tried to cover his ears. “I know” he said. “I know, I know, I know, I know.” Thing was, Virgil couldn’t tell which Virgil he was talking to. 

_“None of your dreams are going to come true”_ The Witch-Virgil boomed.

“Princey, you have to fight, _COME ON!_ ” Because of his panic, Virgil’s own voice was starting to adopt the demonic subtone, and the two monstrous voices of Virgil filled the room.

_“Everyone hates you--”_

_“Princey, don’t believe him--_

_“Even Thomas hates you--”_

_“No, Princey, Thomas lov--”_

_“Want to know why? It’s because--”_

_“Roman, you have to breath, you have to--”_

_“--When none of Thomas’s dreams come true--”_

_“Roman, BREATH!”_

_“It will be all your fault.”_

Virgil couldn't let this continue any longer. Grabbing the sword from the floor, he flung himself forward and pierced the chest identical to his own. The two Virgils locked eyes; and those eyes were the last part to disappear, as the body flaked apart into nothing but dust.

The moment that the Witch-Virgil died, Virgil let the sword clatter to the ground, and he rushed back to the Prince’s side.

The Prince was curled up in a ball, face buried in his knees.

 _“Roman”_ Virgil said, feeling the panic fill his chest.

The Prince flinched at his voice, and clutched his head with his hands. “I know” he cried. “I know. I know…”

Virgil closed his eyes. He took a deep breath: _One, two, three, four…_ He held it, and released: _Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…_

“Roman” he repeated. This time, his voice was clear and natural. It had returned to normal. “Roman, everything is going to be okay. Including you.”

Two eyes peeked out from behind the knees. They were red and blurred by blackened tears. The dilated ache of a person trapped by panic was only just starting to fade.

“We need you” Virgil said, holding his gaze. “And everyone knows it.”

The Prince squeezed his eyes shut, and pressed his forehead back against his knees. “Thanks, Virgil.” His voice was totally lifeless.

Well, at least he could talk. “Can you breathe with me?” Virgil asked gently.

The Prince nodded, and together, they breathed: “One, two, three, four…” until the room around them dissolved, and they found themselves back in the safety of the common room. The Prince stumbled on reentry, and Virgil caught him, and supported him, remembering with disgust the way the Witch-Virgil had let him crumple to the floor, just a few minutes earlier. Their eyes caught for a moment, and Virgil registered a somber gratitude, before a voice spoke up from the other end of the room.

“What happened to _you_?” Logan was standing in the doorway, staring at the Prince’s disheveled face.

The Prince lowered his eyes in shame, and Virgil immediately responded “Nothing” in a firm voice. “We’re going to watch a movie. A Disney movie. And eat pizza. That’s it.”

He threw Logan a pointed look over Roman’s shoulder, and Logan seemed to get it. He left the room and Virgil busied himself with heating up the leftovers from a pizza Patton had conjured earlier.

He brought two plates and two cups over to the sofa, where the Prince was perched gingerly, elbows cradled in his hands, the dark stain of his tears drying on his face. He had the look of someone who’s soul had been gutted and undone.

His eyes slid from the spot on the floor he’d been staring at to another point somewhere below Virgil’s knees. “What are you doing” he said softly.

“I’m comforting you” Virgil answered brusquely, slapping a hot slice of pizza in front of the Prince and throwing himself on the sofa beside him. “Because you’re worth it.”

The Prince smiled a very faint smile, which Virgil reciprocated, before feeling awkward, and choosing to dig around for the remote in the crack of the sofa cushions instead.

The Prince sat silently and Virgil took it upon himself to choose a movie: Hercules, why not?

They sat without conversation for a while, just watching the film. If Virgil didn’t know Roman better, he would have taken the silence as hope that he might’ve actually succeeded in getting him to get his mind off of what had happened in the room. But soon enough, the Prince smiled with a painful sort of humor, and said, “At least now we know that you’re good at _your_ job.”

Virgil immediately scoffed and shook his head. “Are you joking? That horror show was totally out of _your_ imagination. One hundred percent original. Well…” --he grimaced, already feeling uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation-- “I’m sorry that so much of the stuff I’ve said has stuck with you. You should learn to ignore me more often...well, no--I should learn to be more…” At that moment, words failed him. What to say? _Nice?_ Affectionate? Approachable? Positive? His job--his existence, really--depended on his capacity to create fear and discomfort. But at the same time…

“Look” he said finally. “I want to be scary. But I don’t want to be scarier than a freaking _Nazi!”_

At this, the Prince laughed, sincerely this time, and eventually Virgil started chuckling along to the humor of his situation too.

When the laughter had faded, the Prince wore a softer smile. “Well, think of it this way, Virgil. The difference between you and a Nazi is that...if a Nazi told me I was terrible and he didn’t like me...I couldn’t care less.”

Virgil smiled, feeling a warm, oddly comfortable discomfort, along with a faint glow of happiness. “Well, hopefully that’s not the only difference” he joked lightly. He directed his eyes back at the screen, feeling that if he spent too much time looking at Roman, he might smile a little too much. 

Together, they continued watching the movie in a more comfortable silence. That is, until--

“Wait, Virgil--I just realized--I left the Dragon-Witch in your room!”

Virgil flipped his hand casually. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

The Prince relaxed back against the cushions.

“Thanks, Virgil.”

“No problem.”

***One week later***

There was a knock at the door. Virgil ignored it, in favor of turning his music up louder.

The knock dialed up to a persistent hammering, until finally, he tore his headphones down and sighed in agony. _“What?”_

“Virgil!” The Prince’s indignant voice came muffled from the other side of the door. “Virgil, it’s been a full week and you still haven’t returned my Dragon-Witch! I need someone to practice sword fights with!”

Virgil smirked, and pulled his headphones back on. He turned up the volume, and stroked the cat-sized spider strewn across his lap. It purred, and cuddled closer, eyes aglow.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Or maybe you didn't...whatever the case, comments give me life!
> 
> Also, I wrote this first in spanish to practice. If you speak spanish and want to check out the original (and let me know about any glaring mistakes) please take a look! (maybe I'll clump them together as a series? IDK) Anyways, thank you for reading either one! Have a lovely day!


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